Gun-Given Solace
by Prosper-the-XVIII
Summary: 'She gave a sigh of heavy relief. The bullet had missed her.' Prompt from ILOVECHIPS. What if M never died at Skyfall? But what if James did?


A/N - Sorry for any feels this may cause. Don't hunt me down and kill me.

* * *

M gasped, flattening herself against the wall, the cold metal of her gun barrel pressed against her chest. As soon as she was sure the flurry of bullets flying around from the pistols of Silva's men had subsided she bent her head, investigating the area of her hip that she was sure had been shot. Her hands were shaking as she probed, but to her ultimate relief, there was no single trace of blood on her trembling fingertips. Albeit, the bullet had torn her jacket, and quite badly at that, but it had harmlessly skimmed past her body. She gave a heavy sigh of relief. The bullet had missed her.

* * *

M convulsed as Silva forced the gun into her hand, pointing it at her temple. His soft voice in her ear would have put anyone else on the spot, generally making them do something utterly stupid, but M was not that kind of person. She wasn't the head of MI6 for nothing. She was tough. She was British. And frankly she was one hard lady. She knew that Silva now had his head on the other side of hers, trying to get her to kill the pair of them, but never in a million years would it work. She wouldn't do it. Uninjured, with no reason at all to be remotely suicidal, she wouldn't shoot herself here and now in a million years.

Suddenly, in a swift motion, Silva wrenched the gun from her hand, painfully bending her wrist backwards as he did so. M turned, her 5'1" stature making it hard to see past him, to spot Silva and James facing off, waiting for one to provoke the other, James armed with Kincade's hunting knife and poised to throw at a moment's notice. Silva's slick trigger finger operated faster that James's steady arm, and M could only watch with her lips parted in a silent scream as the bullet penetrated James's left eye, knocking him instantly dead to the floor, the knife falling with a clatter. Tears welled in her eyes as she walked, stopped and then lifted the weapon, taking in the bloody, mutilated face of James. Her sight misted red when Silva paced towards her and once again she knew the urge to kill. Her breath shaking, she pivoted, swiftly bringing one leg up and kicking Silva in the balls. Hard.

He fell, and M straddled him, her nostrils flaring, the knife point resting on the hollow of his neck. Silva bent back his head and laughed. "Well, M," the deep, sexy sound leaving his grinning mouth made M recoil with the smell of his breath. "You have me now."

"Last requests?" M growled viciously, the feeling of bloodlust inside of her making he explosive.

"I want you to kiss me goodnight, Mommy," he had stopped laughing, but the pleading of his eyes and his charming smile made him hard to say no to, even for M. "Just once. Please."

A scream left her lips as M tore a deep gash right down Silva's chest. "You asked for this, Tiago..."

With each shaking breath, M brought the knife down on him once more, and slowly her sanity returned. Suppressing the sore temptation to castrate him while she was at it, M lowered her knife-wielding arm and watched the former agent bleed out on the floor. Scowling, yet with tears stinging her eyes, she knelt by his body and before realising fully what she was doing, her lips pressed against the rough pallor of his and she planted a firm kiss on his mouth. As she leaned back up, her fist tightened around the hilt of the knife. He was dead, M knew that, but as her anger and sadness merged into something utterly unexplainable, her arm moved of what seemed like its own accord, and in several swift moves, she stabbed him again and again, each time so deep that she felt the bones in her arm jolt a little when the blade hit the floor. That was for James. For those agents who died in her office. For MI6. For the agents who had died when he exposed their identities. For James...

M extended to her full height, throwing down the bloody knife, wiping her hands down her trousers and smearing the last traces of him from her body. She walked, her legs trembling, glancing from the body of James to that of Silva. Tiago Rodriguez had died years ago in China at the hands of his torturers. Raoul Silva was dead now thanks to her. And now so was James. Her hand glanced over James's one remaining eye - the other was mashed into his head, the socket now occupied with the head of a bullet - and closed it, averting her and everyone else's gaze from the sightless haze of ice blue staring at the sky. She gently cupped his head with her hands, and softly put his lips to hers, meaning it this time as opposed to from pure spite. She slipped out of the kiss, her tears now escaping her eyes. As she knelt by James's body, she contemplated what had just happened.

She knew that going to Skyfall was risky. She had always known that it would end in the death of the ex-agent whom she had fallen in love with when she was young, reckless and flighty - three qualities she had had to give up overnight with her promotion - and ultimately her own, but as she held James in her arms she knew that what she had thought impossible was now reality. She had never seen this happening, not in her wildest nightmares.

She never thought she would find herself weeping over the body of James Bond...

~FIN~


End file.
